


A Proper Start

by TurnandTurn713



Category: Warehouse 13
Genre: F/F, Fluff, Gay Bar, New Year's Eve
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-16
Updated: 2014-04-16
Packaged: 2018-01-19 14:05:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,038
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1472551
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TurnandTurn713/pseuds/TurnandTurn713
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Because why wouldn't HG Wells be a pretty good dancer?</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Proper Start

**Author's Note:**

  * For [whyyesitscar](https://archiveofourown.org/users/whyyesitscar/gifts).



> Sooooo, this is my second, let's say "bonus" fic for the Holiday Aisle. Surprise! Since this fic was unexpected as part of a last minute fill in it's more rushed then my other fic. Many apologies for plot, wording and general shortness.

Music pulsed through the air. She’d never thought of herself as someone drawn to the rhythm of things, but even her gasping breaths of air were in time with the heavy bass. Completely packed in with hundreds of swaying and grinding bodies, Myka found herself feeling claustrophobic and electrically alive at the same time. 

Splitting up had seemed like the best method to search the club, but in retrospect navigating a gay bar solo on New Years Eve was probably not her best plan. Pete had been in agreement though, which probably should have tipped her off to the idiocy of her idea. 

Rising up on her toes, Myka squinted towards the last place she had seen her male counterpart. Through the dark and flashing lights, she could barely make out a figure with Pete’s general build jumping in time to the music, swinging something over his head. If he ended up challenging a gogo dancer to a dance off as he had threatened, then he was very much on his own. 

Suddenly knocked off balance, she found herself moving with the momentum of the bodies around her to stay on her feet. It really had been a while since she had been to a club or really anywhere other then the B and B or a hospital room. Artie had been concerned about Myka’s first case post recovery arguing that being in Miami on New Years Eve was likely to cause over-exertion. However, the ping had come, and between Pete and Helena’s promises to keep things low key, Artie had glared his tentative approval for Myka to return to the field.

Of course now Myka was the one trying to track down her fellow agents. Bracing herself once again, the curly haired women broke out of the sway of the dancing forms around her and this time attempted to locate Helena.

The first thing in her line of site was not the English woman in question, but rather a throng of female and androgynous looking bodies mostly in pairs grinding and clutching at each other. Eyes wide Myka sank back to her feet. Swallowing, she reminded herself of her goal. Locate Frau Troffea’s necklace thereby preventing a modern day St John's Dance outbreak. Though, finding a probably very out of place  
centuries old time traveller amongst the thrumming music, flashing lights, and thrusting bodies was very high on her list as well. 

Once again, Myka found herself knocked out of an attempt to be still whilst searching for her fellow agents. This time though she wasn’t able to regain her footing, and she stumbled forward then backed flush into a firm body. Every place where her frame met the slightly shorter figure behind her burned. The crowd seemed to pulse, and she was tempted to simply give in to the music, the lights, and the anonymity to purely take and give as part of the undulating mass. 

Hands gripped at her hips, forming themselves around her sides and grasping at her shirt. Stunned that her training hadn’t kicked in, she took a breath readying herself to potentially nail this mystery partner in the gut. A familiar scent tickled at her memory. 

“Helena?” She exhaled the name of the woman pushing against her back into the heavy air of the packed club. The hands at her sides pulled her back against rolling hips. A sudden rush of blood and adrenaline flooded through her veins and for a moment she couldn’t see, breathe, or sense anything around her but the rhythm of Helena’s body echoing through her own. Soft lips against her ear and warm sweet air against her cheek anchored her back to the unexpected reality of the moment.  
A voice husky and low purred, “Yes, darling?” Myka’s head pitched backward at the sensation of the timbre of Helena’s voice brushing past her now heated skin.

Left gasping she struggled to rein her body in as it continued to rock and pulse with the beat and Helena’s movements. Stuttering out a short “Wha…? What are you…?” was all she could manage to press out from her lips before she felt the hands at her hips slide under the hem of her shirt. 

Rough fingertips dragged against the bottom of her taut abs. Years. She had yearned for this touch for years. Now, in a club, surrounded by strangers, post her cancer, post Helena’s Boone, all those moments had apparently boiled down to this one. When all of her momentum hurtling towards Helena finally met the unmovable force of the English woman herself. Oh, and how it ached and scorched to come to a halt so suddenly and perfectly. 

Lips dragged and caressed the tip of her ear “ They say one should start the year as one intends to live it.”

Vaguely in the outskirts of her consciousness Myka could hear the count down start. All of the rest of her focus though was on Helena’s face, which she had turned towards, or had Helena moved to face her? She couldn’t remember rotating, and oh aren’t Helena’s eyes just a perfect shade of… Soft heat grazed against her lips and any chance of a train of coherent thought vanished as she surged into the woman in front of her. Literal sparks seemed to fly into the air as her mouth opened onto Helena’s, and she felt a moan hum into her mouth as a Helena’s tongue licked at her own. Sparks were still flying behind her eyes. Wait. Spark’s! Eyes flying open, Myka wrenched her mouth and attention from the woman finally so close at hand. Looking up, she noticed that the rest of the club had also stopped moving. The music had turned off. The lights were on, and Pete was standing in the DJ booth holding up a static bag that was still throwing purple sparks into the air.  
“FUCK!” the still dazed woman cursed.  
“Well darling I was rather hoping we would start with dinner first.” An accented, honeyed tone answered.  
At that, Myka glanced back down at the smirking woman in front of her. Yes, this was going to be quite the next year indeed, but it was getting off to a very proper start.


End file.
